The band member's laughter quieted down some, as the boy I talked to started to compose himself once more. He folded his arms, still holding onto the baton, and looked up at me, scoffing.
"What instrument do you play?" He asked me, defiantly.
Not missing a beat, neither breaking eye contact with him, I reply with a curt, "I don't play any instruments." He looked at me in disbelief, as if I were joking.
Then his expression softened a little, and he looked away from me, giving a soft sigh. "Alright. If you're really interested, and this isn't some huge prank..." He paused to switch his gaze back to my own, "I'll humor you. I'll see you tomorrow, in the band room, seven thirty. Don't be late." With that, he started up with the whistling again, and I had no choice but to back off of the track and field towards the stands, watching them before I left the school grounds.
Tomorrow I did as was instructed. I woke up to a crisp chill in my room. My bed was near the window, so sometimes the cold of the morning slipped past the cracks. Not having much trouble in waking up, I did my usual morning routine, which consisted of getting ready for the day. After my hair looked fine, teeth brushed, and casual clothes were picked out, I slipped outside into the cold of the morning, taking my bike from the back and riding it to the school.
By the time I got to the school, it had been six forty-five. I hadn't really paid attention to the time, which resulted in me standing in front of the band room's door. The band room had an entrance/exit from the outside, right by the entrance, so they could access it easily. I had always known it was there, since my year as a freshman, but I never once used it.
I folded my arms, not bringing a jacket as I knew that once it would hit noon, it'd be like the desert. I lived in Northern Nevada, in a city where most people don't even know that it exists. It only gets cold in the early mornings and in winter, and it never snows. I never really cared much for our horrible weather since for some reason, I've always been fond of the desert.
A car then drove up; it was a newer car, small, and efficient looking. It reminded me of the car my parents were to get me for my sixteenth birthday. I waited for the blond headed male to emerge, but instead I got the band teacher. His bright, red curly hair wasn't a think to miss, a bit round in the waistline, with freckles to 'compliment', he strode towards me and the band room. I stepped aside to allow him passage.
"You can wait in here, if you'd like. You weren't supposed to meet him until at least thirty more minutes." Offered the band teacher, whose name was Mr. Roy. I shook my head, then watched as he shrugged his shoulders and entered into the room after unlocking it.
It gradually became warmer, as the sun shone more brightly than before. I checked the digital watch on my wrist, which read seven twenty-eight. He should be here soon.
I wore a dark red muscle, short sleeved shirt, with a pair of dark blue jeans and sneakers. I didn't really care much for my appearance, but somehow, it always turned out just right.
Leaning against the outer wall of the school building, I leaned forward as I saw an old, rusty truck drive up in one of the many parking spaces. It parked, and the driver got out.
It was him, and as he had finally arrived, he shivered a little bit, shutting the door behind him as he walked briskly toward me, giving me the weirdest look.
"Why are you waiting outside here? It's open, you know." Said he, opening the door as he said so.
"I wanted to wait for you." I replied right back, not allowing a hint of emotion to trace it. He scoffed and went inside, trying to shut the door in my face. I retaliated, opening it back up and entering after him.
Once inside, I watched as he took off the hoodie he wore, a small, gray material he wore that came off as slightly baggy on him. Now exposed in his own short sleeved shirt, which was green and had a design on it, plus a pair of denim shorts that showed off his figure and legs in a cute way, he ran a nimble hand through his blond, seemingly perfectly straight hair. He placed his hands on his hips once more, sizing me up once more as he had done the day before on the field. He then pulled out a chair, and sat down, ordering me to do the same. I complied, taking a seat in front of him while he placed his hoodie on the back of his chair and then sat down.
"You know, Webb, he had been waiting outside probably for a good hour or so. And he insisted on staying outside to wait for you!" Said Mr. Roy, his voice sounding amused. The boy who was called Webb furrowed his brows at me, as if he were trying to figure me out.
"Your name is 'Webb'?" I had asked, not bothering to answer and instead catch him on his name.
"My last name is Webb, first name Charlie." Said he, sighing before asking me in return, "And your name is...?"
"James Hall." I answered curtly, watching him as he nodded slowly, with another strange look on my face.
He then crossed a leg right over the other, folding his arms across his chest. I sat up straight, palms on my knees, watching as he stared at me for a long while. I, even I, started to feel self-conscious.
"You don't play an instrument... so I guess I'll have to teach you the basics. What do you wanna play?" He asked me, taking the edge out of his voice.
"What do you play?" I asked, answering the question with another question. I could hear the band director, Mr. Roy, chuckling softly at this.
"I play flute, trumpet, piano, violin, trombone, percussion... and several others that you've probably never even heard about." He said, a small, smug smirk on his lips.
"I'll do them all." Replied I, as seriously as I could muster. They both laughed at that then, Charlie getting up out of his chair and walking over to the back of the large room. Then, he pulled out a large case from many of the instrumental lockers, placed it on another empty chair, and took the instrument out. It was a drum, and apparently he was going to demonstrate something.
"Percussion is one of the easiest to do. Once you get one instrument in the group, the others aren't that hard to learn." The band teacher tossed Charlie a pair of drumsticks, and Charlie began playing.
He played the same cadence that the rest of the percussion had played the day before. Playing it expertly, his hands moved faster than my eyes could catch. It was a flurry of movement, though small, quick and precise. But what amazed me the most wasn't how it sounded, or how fast the drumsticks moved. It was the same thing that had inspired me to join band in the first place.
His expression danced with excitement as he came upon each new measure, his passion resonating within him, bursting out as his music did.
I wanted it, so badly that it inspired me even more to find that happiness, that passion.
After finishing, he looked at my reaction. He gave me a breathy laugh, before muttering, "Percussion it is."
Since then, Charlie had been helping and teaching me up till summer break had ended. He taught me the right way to hold sticks, how to read basic, intermediate, and moderately hard sheet music, and play like most of the seniors did. Of course I practiced but thirty minutes a day, as he had instructed, and caught on more quickly than he had anticipated. As I had said before, it wasn't hard for me to succeed. But for some reason, I never grew bored, or felt that I wanted to quit...
Besides learning about percussion, I learned more about Charlie. He lived in a family of four, including himself; four alumni in College, a boy and a girl, plus a baby sister no older than three at home. He wasn't into sports, and hardly looked the type anyway, but he loved music, both playing and listening to it. He also had leaked out that he specialized in language arts as well as playing all the instruments he did. Charlie knew how to play only three instruments that I hadn't heard of, for the record. He had a few dreams, one to teach musical appreciation and band at a school, and another to compose a great piece. But his greatest, ultimate dream was to conduct the world's greatest orchestra to the ends of his days.
Now, why had I been learning more about Charlie then band itself? I, even I, couldn't figure it out. I merely guessed that Charlie was the first one not to be nice to me just because I was indifferent, just because I got good grades and could play sports well, just because I was 'popular'.
I loved how he would say things straight to me, and not sugar coat it. I had never been treated like a normal person, not even by my parents.
I guess I just wanted a friend; not a fake one, where they write on your wall on your Facebook page, commenting on how great you look in your profile.
A friend that took the time to get to know me, to learn about not only my strengths, but my weaknesses as well.
Well, we hadn't gotten that deep. But it'd be nice to have it happen eventually.
Then, from learning and playing music came to marching. I had already mastered snare drum, bass and the quads. But since the snare section was a little short after some graduating seniors, Charlie had asked that I play snare.
The first day marching brought a bit of a surprise to me. Percussion was all the way at the back... had he done this on purpose?
I had played on anyways, my head poking around as I marched perfectly, in step and on count. I played the cadence with the other percussionists, trying to see if I could see him. All I saw was the silver baton, raising and lowering in the air.
After my first marching band practice, I immediately came over to Charlie, my drum still strapped on to my front, from a holder that fit around my shoulders and allowed me easy access to my drum.
"What's up?" Asked Charlie, seeing that I wanted something. "You did pretty good for your first day!" He had said with a bright smile. I didn't smile back.
"You couldn't even see me from back there." Retorted I, his eyebrows pushing together cutely in response.
"What's your problem, huh?" He had asked, a hand placed on his hip once more.
"I'd like to request that the percussion be moved to the front of the band." Said I, quite the opposite of obliquely, watching as he stared at me to see if my head was screwed on straight. I heard a few snickers from behind us.
"Are you crazy? Percussion are at the back, they've always been in the back! No one can hear the drum major if the drums are booming loudly up at the front." Retorted he, not questioningly looking at me anymore, but rather having a more absolute and determined look on his face.
"But I can't see you from back there." I had said this unashamedly, folding my arms while holding my drumsticks. The others started to tease him now, cooing, poking, laughing at him. His cheeks went red, but I insinuated that it was because he grew to be angry.
"Idiot." He mumbled, and we didn't talk about it again.
Even after that, we got along immensely. First day of school came, and surprisingly he wasn't in any of my classes, but percussion. It wasn't until that class that I found out he was a senior.
I had stared at him silently for a long moment, upon hearing so. He looked to be even younger then me, and even last year I hadn't ever seen him around. He scowled at me, punching me on the shoulder softly, affectionately. "Is it that hard to believe that I'm a senior? You are too, aren't you?"
It was my turn to answer. I smiled and shook my head. Something made him grin even wider. "'Kay then, Junior?" He had asked, making a face as I shook my head yet again.
"I'm a sophomore." Now it was his turn to gawk. I laughed quietly, which caught him by surprise.
"You know, I've never heard you laugh before." Said he, as we were on our way towards lunch. I smiled at him.
"It's been awhile since I've even heard myself laugh." I replied earnestly, my hands in my jean pockets.
Just then, a group of girls came toward us. I didn't know who they were, but they started chatting eagerly, a few giggling as the leader of their pack came up to greet me.
"Hey, I'm Nicole. I heard you were a sophomore... so if you need any help around the school, just let your big sis know." She winked at me, and the other girls squealed, before they dragged 'Nicole' off. I didn't give that blond piece of ass another look, and I kept walking on. Charlie was frozen in place, before he remembered where he was and followed after me.
"That was the head cheerleader; a senior! I know she doesn't make the greatest pick up lines... well, I do now anyway, but man! You sure are popular, huh?" It seemed as if Charlie was more energetic and excited then the pack of girls were. I shrugged it off.
"I just have that effect on most girls... and some boys." I looked at him after saying this, and he looked at me. It looked for a second as if his expression had frozen for a little, then turned into something of a mock anger.
"You're bragging, aren't you? Aren't you?" He said, punching me on the shoulder as we both laughed it off.
But truly, especially after the incident, I knew that I wasn't trying to get with the head cheerleader, but with a complete opposite; one of the biggest band nerds that you could ever meet, and even a boy, no less.
I wondered how long this relationship would last till it reached utter chaos.